


Powerless

by coolasdicks



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, in the past, no one is hitting anyone current time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1216525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolasdicks/pseuds/coolasdicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill:</p>
<p>“hi! if you’re not too busy can i request a AHOT6 prompt where the guys love to pull michael’s hair, almost in a controlling way, when kissing and in the bedroom but michael is actually super uncomfortable with it due to maybe a fairly abusive person in his past doing it but he doesn’t share it with them until one day it becomes too much and he flips out at them? (p.s - i really enjoy you’re writing!)”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Powerless

Michael didn’t mention it.

It was near-constant. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so unlucky to have found five guys that were all very grabby, all a little too rough. Six, counting the last, and most definitely worst, one. The current five were different, though, and Michael knew that with all of his heart.  _They_ weren’t manipulating him into a relationship.  _They_ loved him.

The last one had not.

It left scars, in more ways than one. Everyone had marks, small and large, of some sort from their past, some physical and some mental. Some positive, and some negative. To Michael, it felt like all of them were negative, and generally from the same source. He hadn’t known it’d gotten so bad until a loved one was forced to remove him from the situation and call the cops. It was humiliating, emasculating, and every word for embarrassment in between. Michael was a  _man._ A loud, fun-loving, excitable one, at that.

He wasn’t a victim of domestic abuse.

He liked to think of it as just unlucky.

And even more so to have found five men, all very different and caring in their own ways, who tended to expression their passion, their affection and love, in similar ways his ex had.

For most things, Michael was only unpleasantly reminded of past experiences; a shiver of discomfort when they played a little too rough while wrestling, bruising an arm or scraping a knee against the carpet. Nothing big – the bigger gents of the group were careful as to not squish the younger ones. In fact, it was usually Gavin who often found Michael an apt grappling partner. The redhead played along, of course, and even had fun up until Gavin began to push back and actually  _try_ to win. It was then that Michael’s heart sped up, palms start to sweat, skin raise with goosebumps. He could deal with the obnoxious reminders of a past life.

It was when the hair-pulling started that he started to lose his grip.

Not only was it reminiscent of years before, it brought flashbacks – real, vivid images parading behind his eyes – of that night where they’d been separated. Just another argument, another fight, another fist thrown at his jaw. Infuriated, Michael had fought back for one of the first times during their relationship, and it had only escalated from there. The sensation of a hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the roots and yanking his head back to expose his neck just about gave Michael a full-blown panic attack.

It always passed as arousal, unfortunately, with his blown out pupils and frantic breathing, and while Michael never encouraged it, he never refuted it either. A sour limbo he was caught in, but Michael knew he would never say anything.

He never did during his last relationship, either.

He guessed it was just how he was.

Under all that rage, all that adventurous, fun-loving exterior, he was just a weak person in soul and mind. He couldn’t even fucking protect himself against one guy, and now he couldn’t stand up to five and tell them not to be as rough.

Stop pinching his butt.

Stop pulling his hair.

Stop being  _him._

—-

Michael woke with a jolt, sweat-slicked skin sliding against the damp sheets as he shifted, chest heaving with every breath as he came back down from where he’d been. He stared up at the ceiling, a palm against his forehead pushing his sticky hair away from his face, drawing in shaky gasps as his heart rate slowly declined. His voice was loud in the still, silent room, and once Michael was aware of it, he quieted immediately, forcing himself to breathe through his nose. Glancing to his right, he saw that Ryan was curled away from him, into whoever was on his other side, allowing Michael to be able to slip soundlessly from the mass of people.

His socked feet were noiseless against the wooden flooring as he padded to the door, the hinge creaking slightly as he opened and closed it. He didn’t fear that he’d woken anyone up, however, as all five men were tired and worn out after a rough bout of sex.

Michael was still shaking by the time he made it to the kitchen. It was only four in the morning, the Thursday in front of him seeming daunting. The idea of performing a Rage Quit made his stomach fill with dread, even as he scourged the fridge for a RedBull, and he decided to use one of the rare back-ups he had stored on his laptop in case he was sick or lost his voice.

He could barely open it, trembling fingers unable to properly grasp the flimsy metal pop. Taking a few long breaths to calm himself, he braced both hands on the countertop and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Calm down,” Michael murmured allowed, his voice the only sound in the house. It anchored him through the silence, and already his heart was slowing. “It’s okay. You’re not with him anymore. You’re with the guys. Not with him.”

He licked his lips, feeling something warm and wet trickle down the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, and it fell off the tip, creating a perfect little circle on the smooth surface of the kitchen counter.

“C’mon, Michael,” he chanted to himself, feeling his psyche beginning to tilt dangerously towards panic attack levels of anxiety. His lungs shuddered with every inhale. “It’s fine,” he said sharply, voice breaking. “You’re safe. With them. They… they don’t do it on purpose.”

They don’t. Well, they might, but they didn’t do it with any bad intentions. They didn’t know about Michael’s internal weakness. They didn’t know he was as fragile as a fucking porcelain doll, something as stupid as words ready to shatter him and leave him broken. He was happy in this goddamn relationship – he wanted it to last. Forever, if possible.

As his thoughts began to stray, his hands steadied. Eyes dried. Breathing slowed. Looking down at his chilled bottle of RedBull, he was able to pry the tab off and raise it to his mouth without spilling a drop, practically inhaling the liquid. The carbonated liquid burned his throat and nose as it went down, but the cold lit his mind with energy.

He sighed in satisfaction, tossing the empty can into the trash. He wiped the condensation covering his palms on his boxers, and he sorely wished he’d grabbed a set of clothes in his rush to get out of the bedroom.

It had been a bad dream. A  _bad_ dream. Complete with scalp-tingling pain, with bright purple bruises, with blood the color of crimson. As his brain began to bleed logic and sense into his muddled consciousness, the dream itself began to fade, some aspects that had terrorized Michael now forgotten. He knew what the subject had been, however, and that alone horrified him.

His hips burned with long stripes of scratches, the skin raised and bright pink. His back was covered with love bites and hickies, a patch of flesh just under his jaw feeling tender to the touch. He didn’t mind the marks – normally, he’d be proud to flaunt them. But everything, it seemed, was ruined with the memory of his ex. They were possession marks. They were  _owning_ Michael.

He didn’t know how to feel.

As he debated to himself, a hand absent-mindedly ran through his hair. He hissed in pain and withdrew immediately, a sharp sting having sprouted just above the nape of his neck. His stomach dropped with the sudden rush of recollection of last night’s events.

It wasn’t surprising it’d been Geoff. The tattooed man always liked to play rough in bed. Nothing too explicit, but he was a fan of manhandling and dirty talk. Occasionally a hand would weave into Michael’s red curls and bare his neck, allowing Geoff room to leaving a nice collection of bite marks down the column of Michael’s throat. In the throes of passion, Michael couldn’t find it in himself to protest, usually going silent in a weak plea for Geoff to let go of his hair. If his boner was lost, it went unnoticed, because thankfully Geoff  _did_ move on, and Michael was able to forget about it in favor of focusing on other activities.

Last night had been no different. Michael, however, was. The stress was building. With every incident, his unease grew, as did his insecurity. The rational side of his brain knew they meant no harm; that they weren’t trying to control him like his ex was. The emotional, traumatized part screamed at him constantly, clawing its way to his consciousness through his dreams, reminding Michael of the multitude of mistakes he’d made already. Letting them in, letting them close, and letting  _himself_  fall for them. He was headed down the same pit he’d managed to crawl out of once already. He wasn’t sure if he had the energy to do it again.

“Michael?”

Raising his lowered head, Michael looked at the doorway to the kitchen. Ray was edging around the corner, eyes half-lidded with sleep and hair mussed. He was gazing at Michael as if unsure the redhead was actually there.

“Go back to bed, stupid,” Michael said, rough words softened by his breathy tone. He smiled at Puerto Rican and recognizing that the other wasn’t going to go back without him, he gently pushed Ray from the doorway.

Ray wordlessly turned around and started back towards the bedroom, but not without checking to make sure Michael was following him every few feet. He was, but before crawling back into bed, Michael pulled on a random tee shirt that’d been sitting on the floor.

Michael excluded, they slept until near seven, leaving Michael with about three hours to mull over his thoughts. Ray was snuggled tight against his side, the warmth reassuring and calming his rabid thoughts. He didn’t get any sleep, but he was able to pick apart a logical argument and give himself reasons as to why he shouldn’t be freaking out.

A cold nose pressing against his upper arm brought him out of his lull. He looked down in surprise to see Gavin sleepily looking up at him, craning his head up in an obvious request for a morning kiss. Michael granted it with enthusiasm, hugging the younger man close with the need for contact. Gavin pulled away looking slightly confused, but he looked happy that Michael was so quick to kiss him. Gavin probably figured Michael woke up in a good mood. In reality, he was just desperate to forget.

Ray was next, stealing a quick peck from all of the boys before slouching off to first shower. Jack stretched and groaned, sighing in comfort when his joints popped and cracked. Michael could see red marks covering his chest from where someone had scratched down his pectorals. His fingers twitched.

“Morning,” he heard Geoff murmur to Ryan, petting the blonde’s hair affectionately. After thoroughly stretching in a fashion similar to a feline, Geoff sat up and greeted Jack with a light bite on the meat of the bearded man’s shoulder. Jack swatted at him playfully before he left the bed to start coffee and turn in the television in the living room.

As Ryan continued to cuddle with his pillow, Geoff leaned over to Michael and gave him a light kiss on the lips, smirking and ruffling his hair.

He didn’t miss the flinch that followed.

Geoff pulled back as if Michael had burned him. “What?” he asked, almost defensively.

Michael’s hand nervously patted down his wild hair. “Nothing?” he said, trying to casually play it off. The skin covering his skull felt hot and tight.

“What? Did you bang your head or something?” Geoff asked, looking curious. Michael wasn’t surprised he didn’t buy Michael’s pitiful lie – he just couldn’t get that lying shit down.

“No,” Michael grumbled, pushing down his hair self-consciously as if Geoff was going to see the irritated skin through his thick curls. He blinked at Geoff’s blurry face and reached over the nightstand to grab his glasses that were stacked on top of Ray’s. Fitting them over his ears, he glared warily at Geoff. “I have a headache,” he lied.

That one was at least believable. Geoff didn’t say anything as Gavin plodded back into the room, apparently having heard the tail end of the conversation and handing Michael two small aspirins. Michael gave him a thankful look.

He didn’t actually have a headache, but his eyes were sore and his skin felt prickly, so he took the medicine anyway. Swallowing it dry left a bad taste in his mouth, so he took the opportunity to get out from under Geoff’s tense gaze and left the bedroom to get a glass of water.

Jack was milling about in the kitchen, juggling the delicate task of frying eggs and pouring glasses of varying liquids. He glanced up at Michael with a warm smile when the redhead entered.

“Thanks, Jack,” Michael said with visible relief as he was handed his glass of water. He chased down the two pills with the icy drink and sighed in bliss. His head was beginning to clear, and he felt foolish for fucking  _flinching_ at Geoff. The older man may be a little forward sometimes, but he didn’t think Geoff would hurt him. “Sleep good?”

“Mm,” Jack hummed with a sly glance. Michael grinned back at him, able to forget for a moment his unpleasant morning as he remembered the sounds Jack had made last night while inside of Michael. Jack turned away with pink cheeks and Michael chuckled weakly into his water glass.

“Jack,” Gavin moaned, the word drawn out and tapering off into an annoying whine. The Brit stumbled into the kitchen in a zombie-like fashion, his arms thrust out in front of him as he groaned and tripped forward. His hair was ridiculously poofy and Michael laughed as Jack toyed with one of the strands. It stood straight up wherever Jack placed it. “Stop that,” Gavin complained, batting Jack’s hand away and eyeing the eggs in the pan. “Are those ready?”

“No,” Jack said, poking at the gooey yolks with a shake of his head.

Gavin groaned in dismay and turned to Michael, once more imitating a zombie as he walked towards the redhead. He wrapped both arms around the redhead’s shoulders and pulled him into a lazy hug, Gavin collapsing down his front and dragging Michael’s boxers down slightly with him.

Michael almost dropped his water glass in his scramble. He pried Gavin’s arms off in time to save his goods from being exposed to fresh air, holding the tanned appendages of his lover away from his body. A similar look of confusion that had graced the Brit’s face this morning once more consumed his expression.

Hastily releasing the confused brunette, Michael snatched his water glass off the counter and took a drink to soothe his drying throat. He felt like punching himself – he was acting like a fucking freak. His nerves wouldn’t let him calm completely down and now every act of physical contact was unsettling and uncomfortable.

“Do you want breakfast?” Jack called after him as Michael retreated from the kitchen, skirting out of the room, dodging Ryan narrowly. Michael shook his head in answer and it was only when he was sitting on the living room couch that he realized Jack couldn’t see him. Jack hadn’t pursued him further, however, and left him alone.

After making sure he was alone, Michael ran angry hands back and forth through his hair, ruffling the strands and scratching his scalp so furiously that the skin burned. Tears of frustration were building in his eyes, his irritation and resentment fully aimed inwards. He couldn’t stop the shaking in his hands, the breathy tone his gasps took as he tried to inhale and exhale in a normal routine. The helpless feeling – so lost and aching – was overwhelming him once more, a familiar darkness nipping at the heels of his mind as he ran from the memories. The name didn’t run through his mind once, but the feelings that man had ignited were setting his entire being alight.

Michael was slowly drowning in this fire.

“I wonder if this is what they call a bad day,” Michael whispered to himself, the following laugh devoid of humor. He sniffed, his nose feeling stuffy.

He wiped at his nose before standing up from the couch, a wave of lightheadedness hitting him from going so fast. Annoyed that he was still in just a pair of boxers and a thin, too big tee shirt, he sped to the bedroom to tug on his own shirt and a pair of pants. He felt significantly less vulnerable when dressed in his own clothes, legs no longer bared and shoulders now covered.

He brushed his teeth hurriedly, noting the time on the clock and realizing work was starting soon. Everyone else had already gotten ready and was now eating in the kitchen, the steam from their showers fogging up the mirror. Brushing through his hair, Michael cringed and winced and fought back upset tears as he looked himself in the mirror. The bristles of the hairbrush caught in his tangles and  _dammit_ –

“Michael, you ready?” Geoff called from the hallway.

Michael drew in a quivering breath, doing his best to keep his voice even. “Yeah, one sec.”

He heard Geoff hum in acknowledgement. Blowing his nose a few rapid times to clear his nasal passage, he glared at himself in the mirror, hating the image reflected back at him. The physical picture was only a part of it – as he stood staring into his own eyes, he could see the weakness, the pure terror in the dull orbs. He was such shit. His boyfriends were lovely to him – he was literally in the best relationship he’d ever been in. And he was fucking it all up singlehandedly. No wonder his ex had hit him –

“Michael, c’mon!” Geoff yelled impatiently from the hallway, his voice loud and sharp, causing Michael to jump and drop the hairbrush into the sink, the plastic making a loud bang.

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael rushed, practically shoving the beanie onto his head before fleeing the bathroom. He snatched his wallet and keys from his little decorative bowl Jack had bought for each of them, the individual ones styled to each Hunter’s taste. He almost dropped his phone on his way out, looking guiltily at his boyfriends assembled in the hallway, waiting expectantly. Michael followed them out of the house with his head down.

“You realize that though I’m your boss, I have a boss, too, right?” Geoff grumbled as he started the car.

“Oh, please, like Matt would fire you,” Gavin scoffed, buckling his seatbelt and squirming in his seat.

“He’s not fun to talk to when in boss mode,” Geoff told him, and that was true for pretty much every one of Rooster Teeth’s ‘bosses’. Including Geoff, who could be a scary motherfucker when in a) boss mode or b) boyfriend mode. Geoff was unfortunately extremely protective. Recognizing the trait as easily intertwined with possessiveness, Michael hated being looked after like that. Both his ex and Geoff shared too many similar traits. The only difference, it felt, was that Geoff had yet to lay a violent hand on him.

“Michael, we sorta need you to open the door so we can get out.”

“Huh?” Michael said blankly, looking up from his shoes to see that the car was parked in front of the office and Gavin, Ray, and Ryan were now waiting for him to open the car door. He’d forgotten that Ryan’s door handle was broken, and after flushing in embarrassment, he opened it and climbed out, the rest following suit.

“Sorry,” he said lamely, closing it after them.

The rest of the day pretty much went like that. He forgot to set up his pop filter on their first recorded Let’s Play, causing his recording to be louder and messier than the others. Gavin was irritated with him the rest of the day. Michael also forgot to press play on his capture and therefore went footageless for the first hour of a GTA Let’s Play. This time it was Ryan ready to throttle him.

When Geoff called it quits on recording anything more that day, Michael had a strong feeling it was due to the tattooed man not wanting any more streaks of bad luck. Nothing particular was mentioned directly to the redhead, but Michael spent as much time out of the office as possible in a desperate effort to avoid his boyfriends. Once no longer in their presence, it became easier to think rationally. For that day, he practically lived at Lindsay’s desk, intermittently escaping to Gus’ office when the older man wasn’t busy.

Neither Gus nor Lindsay questioned it, but they both warned him subtly when one of the guys was approaching. In Lindsay’s case, he could escape from the back of the warehouse, but when Gus made a subtle eye-flicker motion to the only door in the room, Michael could do nothing but turn in trepidation.

“Are you using him for something?” Geoff asked casually, leaning against the doorframe and tilting his head towards Michael.

Gus sent Michael a silent  _sorry, bro,_ before saying, “Nope.”

“Good,” Geoff said simply before reaching forward and tugging Michael from the room by firm hand around his wrist. The tight grip made Michael’s spinal cord seem to tighten in his back and he almost instantly ripped his arm from the grasp.

Geoff stared at him, hesitating. He glanced over Michael’s shoulder at Gus’ open door before saying, “What? You said you weren’t doing anything in there.”

He didn’t get it. Michaels brain fought with itself as both relief and despair poured in. “No, I wasn’t, I just haven’t talked to Gus in a while.”

“You were on a podcast with him like two days ago,” Geoff pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

“Ah, well, you know,” Michael shrugged, feeling distinctly uncomfortable under Geoff’s vast gaze.

“Are you feeling okay? You sound a bit congested,” Geoff said, frowning. “Are you sick?”

“No, I’m fine,” Michael assured him.

Geoff hummed in obvious disbelief, reaching out suddenly to supposedly check Michael’s temperature.

Geoff’s fingers stopped mere inches from Michael’s forehead, but the redhead couldn’t stop the flinch in motion. He met Geoff’s shocked gaze with guilty eyes, still reeling from the wave of intense alarm. The ghost of a black eye pulsed around his right socket, the flesh prickling with the memory of a deep purple seeping into the pale skin. It lingered when he blinked and slowly straightened, staring at Geoff warily.

“Michael, what the fuck,” Geoff demanded, sounding confused and faintly worried.

“What, Geoff?” Michael snapped, embarrassment coloring his voice. “I’m not sick, I’m just tired, and you making fucking grabby motions at my face isn’t helping shit.”

Geoff’s concern seemed to vanish with Michael’s venomous tone. “You’re such a prick today,” he retorted with a glare. “Fine, be in a shitty mood.”

Michael’s stomach dropped, familiar feelings of regret stabbing at his heart. He’d apparently made a huge step forward, however – unlike how he’d handle a situation similar to this in the past, he  _didn’t_ reach forward and grab at his lovers hand desperately, pleading for understanding. He didn’t break first, knowing that if he was stubborn, if he refused to back down, he’d be  _shown_ who’s in charge.

He didn’t back down this time.

Instead he watched as Geoff walked away, leaving Michael feeling as if he’d just been disemboweled.

—-

“What are you going to eat for dinner?”

“Burger or something.”

“But what are you  _really_ gonna eat for dinner?”

Michael gave Gavin a dirty side-eyed glare at the whine. His hand tightened on his beer as his stomach churned. “I’m  _really_ gonna have a burger,” Michael lied. Gavin, though not particularly sensitive, saw through his bullshit fib and continued to pester him as he’d been doing for the past hour or so. Michael was just glad he was taking the lie as meaning that Michael wasn’t being truthful about what he was eating. In all honestly, Michael didn’t think he could stomach anything yet.

Gavin wiggled around on the couch, giving a loud, bothersome wail. He wormed his way down the couch so his head was cushioned on Michael’s lap, and the redhead was centimeters from shoving him off.

“Michael,” Gavin groused, poking at his belly through his shirt.

“Gavin. I’m gonna fucking slit your throat,” Michael warned dangerously, narrowing his eyes. Recognizing the threat, Gavin grumbled but sat up and scooted away.

The rest of the Achievement Hunters ignored their side conversation as they watched the movie. Michael hadn’t really been paying attention in the first place, but he wished Gavin would get off his tail. He clutched at his beer and took a long chug from the can. The alcohol wasn’t doing shit, and Michael was already on his sixth… seventh beer? He looked over at his empty cans to count, but they were mysteriously gone. Oh, right – Jack had picked them up for him over half an hour ago.

Michael had to blink the lines out of his vision. He downed the rest of his beer and clumsily placed the empty on the table.

He let out a quiet  _oof!_ when Gavin fell into his lap, the Brit squirming around and narrowly avoiding elbowing his dick. Unsure as to what he was doing, Michael grunted and tried shoving him off, but his muscles felt like jelly in his arms, so instead he just held Gavin’s arm in a loose grip.

“Michael,” Gavin whined, but this time it wasn’t quiet so grating. It seemed that Gavin had finally given up on his quest for someone to feed him; he turned his head to the size and started to nuzzle Michael’s dick through his pants, the feeling sending pleasurable tingles up Michael’s legs.

“Hey,” Michael warned, voice low. His mind was too buzzed to communicate clearly, but an odd sense of panic was rising in the back of his head.

Gavin giggled. He palmed Michael through the fabric, finding the outline of Michael’s twitching cock and stroking it. Biting his lip, Michael gave a sigh of pleasure and leaned his head back against the pillows.

“We’re trying to watch a movie,” a stern voice said from in front of them. Michael opened his eyes to see Ryan turned around in his seat, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Eh,” Gavin said dismissively, continuing to roughly handle Michael through his jeans. “Crap movie anyway.”

Through his many beers, Michael didn’t exactly remember how couch groping translated to bedtime activities, and maybe the sudden environment change had something to do with his later behavior, but he abruptly found himself sandwiched between two very warm, very naked bodies, the soft sheets of the bed under his knees.

He was moaning, breathy little sounds that puffed with every exhale. There was a hand on his cock, alternating between quick, severe strokes and long, torturous ones. He still had his pants on, and he was only half-hard, and yet somehow it felt damn good to drunk Michael.

But even in his intoxicated mind, the feel of teeth on his neck and a hand snaking into his hair made his breath hitch in discomfort.

His eyes popped open and for a brief moment he wondered how he got to the bedroom. Deciding that that bit wasn’t the one that mattered, Michael’s mind sharpened at the feel of fingers scratching lightly at his scalp, long digits twirling in the curly strands and tugging gently on them.

_No, no, no –_

“Ah –” Michael squeaked, and it was noticeably different from his earlier noises. Sharper, higher-pitched – panicked.

While the hand on his dick disappeared, the one in his hair did not. It tightened, balling up into a fist and baring his throat. A startled, choked sort of noise was ripped from him, and he felt his chest jump with a strained gasp, the air seeming to squeeze through the slit that was now his throat.

“Michael?”

“Let go –  _let go!_ ” Michael whimpered, and to his horror, his body followed old habits and went completely lax. After so many years with an abusive partner, it was silently engrained into him that just accepting what was coming to him was a lot easier than fighting it. He went utterly limp, the sensation in his chest leading him to believe that it might collapse. Heart beating wildly, Michael sucked in panicked gulps of air as his skin burned, itched,  _crawled_ with the ghosts of the past. His hazy mind confused some of it with what was happening in the present and he flinched when something brushed up against his cheek.

He couldn’t hear beyond the rush of air in his ears, the loud gasps and sobs, and even the quiet whimpers seemed to absorb every sound. He was unaware that he was hyperventilating until he managed to recognize the familiar tightness in his lungs, the rough draw of every breath on his raw throat, the wheeze that came after every desperate gasp for air. His head spun, eyes watery and blurry. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs, but he was pretty sure they weren’t even attached to him anymore. Regardless, he tried his best to move them and if the impact on his right shoulder was any tell, he’d just fallen off the bed.

He didn’t know someone was manipulating his body into a peculiar position until he was sitting up against the side of the bed with his legs splayed out in front of him, head tilted up so his airways were clear. A soothing hand on his back rubbing large circles into the shaking muscles brought Michael back to the present. He wasn’t with  _him_ anymore, he was with Gavin and Geoff, Ryan and Jack and Ray –

“ – panic attack, I’ve never had a bloody pani –”

“My niece has anxiety, sometimes she has a paper bag to breathe into. Will that work?”

“I think he’s starting to breathe easier.”

Everyone quieted at Geoff’s soft-spoken statement. The roar in Michael’s ears died down, the worried voices of his boyfriends like drums in the silence. His eyes continued to run, lungs burning painfully, but he was no longer gasping. He couldn’t stop his hands from trembling as he tried to cover his face, wracking sobs beginning to build deep in his chest.

“Or not,” he heard Geoff said with difficultly, and a large pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders, hugging Michael to his chest. Weakly grabbing at the material of Geoff’s shirt, Michael allowed half-choked sobs to fall from his lips as he pressed his face into the meat of Geoff’s shoulder. A hand was suspiciously careful not to touch his hair or neck, instead lightly patting his middle back.

“Shh,” Geoff cooed. “Shh, calm down, it’s okay, Michael.”

“What do we do?” he heard Gavin whisper from somewhere nearby. “What happened?”

Michael gave a weak laugh at Gavin’s completely bewildered tone. “’M a big baby,” he slurred into Geoff’s shirt, feeling tears moisten the material under his cheek. He sniffed, clenching his fists as he tried to pull his fractured mind back together.

“You’re not a baby,” Jack immediately said. He sounded like he was sitting right behind Geoff.

“What happened?” Ray asked, sounding fearful.

Michael tried to even his breathing enough to answer. “I – I – I’m sorry –”

“Stop that,” Geoff said gently, beginning to rock Michael in his lap. It was an awkward sort of embrace, but Michael found solace in it. “Don’t apologize. Is this what’s been bugging you all day? It is your hair or your neck? Michael – how could you not tell us?”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Michael whispered brokenly.

“If something makes you uncomfortable in bed, you need to say something,” Geoff said, sounding as if he was begging. The words confused Michael before the redhead realized that they thought it was just that – a discomfort in bed. They didn’t know –

“It brings back bad memories,” he blurted. Everything seemed to freeze around him, including Geoff’s soft rocking, but Michael continued to slow his breathing, gaining more control over himself. He sniffed again.

Gavin was the first to speak, his voice seeming blaringly loud in the dead silence. “Bad memories?”

“He – he used to do it,” Michael whimpered. He had to bite his lip to stop another sob from escaping. “I – I – I’m so fucking stupid –”

Geoff cut him off with a sharp squeeze of the arms, forcing Michael’s breath to hitch. Through Geoff’s shoulders, Michael could feel a faint tremble.

“You’re not even slightly stupid,” Geoff said, and to Michael’s shock, his voice was dripping with barely suppressed rage. Michael was confused, but he was even more bewildered as to why he felt no fear at the tone. Plenty a time had his ex spoken to him in a voice similar to that. But now, with Geoff, all Michael felt was contentment as he sat wrapped up in his arms.

There was a whispered conversation happening somewhere in the room. If Michael had to guess, he’d say that Ryan or Ray was explaining to Gavin what Michael was meaning. Geoff cut off his thoughts by placing his cheek gently on the top of Michael’s hair and murmuring, “You’re stupid for not telling us,” he amended quietly. “But you’re nowhere near as stupid as the sick fuck who caused it.”

Michael flushed in embarrassment. “Don’t say it,” he begged, voice breaking. He tore out of Geoff’s arms violently, and felt like throwing up at the way everyone was looking at him. Something akin to a kicked puppy. “Don’t  _fucking_ look at me like that.” He said angrily, feeling the rage building low in his gut. He stumbled to his feet, heavily leaning on the bed for support. His legs almost gave out from exhaustion. The room spun.

“Michael,” Ryan tried complacently. There was pity dripping from the single word.

“I’m not a fucking victim!” Michael screamed, a sob tearing the last word apart. “Don’t – stop fucking  _looking_ at me like that! I shouldn’t have fucking told you, I knew it –”

Geoff, deftly avoiding his flailing arms as the redhead gestured wildly, hugged Michael around the waist, pressing his nose into the crook between Michael’s neck and shoulder. The wordless gesture halted the redhead in the middle of his building rant, cutting him off instantly. Speechless, Michael gripped the shirt on Geoff’s back, furrowing his brow at the confusing, conflicting emotions swirling in his mind. The alcohol probably wasn’t helping him sort things out.

“You aren’t a victim,” Geoff agreed, talking into Michael’s skin. He could feel Geoff’s lips moving. “Michael Jones isn’t a  _victim._ Michael Jones is a strong, awesome, bold human being, who’s had some shitty things happen to him, but he’s still fucking here. He’s right here, still going strong.”

Michael’s eyes ached, but by some miracle they weren’t out of tears yet. He squeezed them shut and shook his head, but he  _bathed_ in the words, finding comfort and peace in them that he’d never been able to find in his own. He wasn’t a victim. He was a goddamn survivor.

A finger curled on his cheek and caught a tear, lifting the small drop away. “You’re always going to be Michael to us. You can’t change that,” Gavin murmured.

A hand gently pat his shoulder. “Tell us when something makes you uncomfortable,” Jack whispered.

“We’ll help you,” Ray said, taking Michael’s hand in his and very tenderly squeezing.

“We won’t judge you,” Ryan added, taking Michael’s other hand.

“And we love you,” Geoff breathed into his neck.

And suddenly, all these gestured, their hands, their eyes, their words – nothing was scary. Nothing incited terror in Michael’s heart.

It was only love, acceptance, and something Michael had never found in his relationships before.

And suddenly the difference between his old relationship and his current one was blindingly bright.

The difference. It was all he could see.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
